Refuge
by UnwrittenTears
Summary: Not all alternate realities are pretty. In this one, April and Casey meet before the Turtles as the result of a car crash. Rated M for mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

The neon red of her alarm clock blinked uncertainly to the sound of her father's livid yelling, illuminating the darkened room intermittently. April sat on her bed, staring blankly at the stained floor. Occasionally, her step mother's shrill voice would accompany her father's gruff shout, but rarely. It was a never ending dance of hate, causing April to wonder why they even bothered staying married. The red numbers of the clock shifted to 1:43, once more illuminating the computer parts and lined paper that littered the room. 1:43 in the morning, November 21st. Right now, amid the shouting and the darkness, the date seemed insignificant, but in truth it marked a supposedly memorable day.

Or not so much, she mused bitterly as the tinkling sound of broken glass contributed to the ceaseless noise. A whisper in the back of her mind questioned whether it was anything important, say the last of dinner china? Closing her stormy blue eyes, she sighed. What was the point of worrying? It wouldn't do any good. Opening her eyes, she grabbed her phone, wallet, and jacket. Slinking down the halls and stairs, she kept her head down until well outside the house-better not to gain any unwanted attention. "Happy Birthday to me," the newly seventeen-year-old muttered bitterly once outside the house.

Nike-clad feet hit broken, cracked concrete and in a second she was running. The imperfect streets of New York City flew by, characterized by brownstones and dingy apartments build upon and beside trash littered streets and dark, dirty alleyways. Experience taught her to be aware of her surroundings, but to succumb to the curiosity. Only danger lurked inside the crevices of the city, something she was becoming all too familiar with. A part of her she thought long dead wished to expose the darkness, to drive it out and let only the light in; the impossibility of the sentiment only increased her hatred. She focused on the gravel in from of her, feeling the ghost of bile rising in her throat if she considered her surroundings, imagining the pastel-colored houses and white picket fences that could have been. The rhythmic pushing of her feet against the ground helped to block it out, so she kept running.

Two miles or so down the road she slowed to a stop, now located on the outskirts of the city, somewhere near the docks and a little farther down then the warehouse district. Sweat dripped down her back and her red hair clung to her face as she fought to catch her breath. It hadn't always been like this. Before her parent's divorce, before her father's abuse, before _that_ she had been normal, happy even, but things change don't they?

Slowly, with hands in tattered pockets and head turned down, she resumed walking, memories invading her mind. In front of her, her mother walked away, with only her purse and a suitcase. She didn't look back, she didn't wave, didn't do anything. Just walked away when her father was out of the house. On April's back, she felt the sting of her father's belt on raw flesh. Her arms burned with the heat of cigarette and cigar butts. Her thighs ached with the thought of broken glass and china. The only problem was; she couldn't tell if they were phantom pains or if she was really experiencing them. Then came the flashes of unwanted skin on skin, the burn of rope on her already bleeding wrists, and hoarse cries that broke through the tears. The sensations permeated her thoughts, perverting her emotions.

Hunching in on herself, she paused, the desire to forget came on strong and so she quickly turned left, knowing only one way to fulfill such a want. Left, Right, Right. Her steps quickened, but took on a more confident and sure method than before. Now she was not running, but hunting. Ten minutes and multiple turns later brought her to the front of a seemingly abandoned warehouse in the warehouse district. Without hesitation, she stepped inside, leaving the door to swing wildly in her wake. At 2:30 in the morning the place was relatively empty, with few customers and even fewer suppliers. Cargo crates lined the walls of the dimly lit building, while tables set up every few yards formed a 'U', emulating a flea market.

With determination in her eye and purpose guiding her steps, she walked by the group of men gambling for the pretty girl in the cage. Her frightened eyes followed April, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The girl would be fine. She passed the two women sprawled out at the homemade hookah bar and couldn't bring herself to feel anything but disgust. She approached the back corner of the building, heading to one of the tables hidden amongst the crates. With a silent nod, she passed the bulky man behind the table a stack of bills from her wallet. "What do you want?" He stated, polite enough to hopefully ensure a returning customer. "Vodka," she whispered hoarsely. He nodded and turned to the crates behind him. In a few minutes, he turned back around and the cool glass of a bottle became gripped in her hands, encased by a nondescript paper bag. Without so much as a nod of acknowledgment, she walked out, intent of resuming her aimless wandering.

As she walked, April would occasionally lift the large bottle to her lips, just to feel the burn at the back of her throat. She knew alcohol was a depressant, something she really didn't need, but she also knew it's lethal potential. She was counting on that. Until it took effect, it would serve as a method to reassure she could still feel, and that she had not become numb to the pain.

Stumbling onto one of the many grimy benches that adorned the streets in this part of the city she took another long sip, vodka dribbling out the corner of her mouth and down her chin. Pathetic. When had it come to this? Her mother and father had always hated each other, only marrying because their eldest daughter had been the product of a drunken one-night stand and their youngest an honest mistake. Both of them would have been much happier ignoring each other and continuing on with their research. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before they got divorced. No one would have guessed that her leaving would make her father even more unhappy than he already was. Three marriages and nine years later had proven everyone wrong, with her father hitting rock bottom repeatedly.

Quickly taking another swig, she shifted jerkily. The movement caused her back to ache, a sickening reminder of the slowly healing black and blue stripes on her back- a "present" from her father for not cleaning the kitchen. "Fuck," she breathed out and took another sip. Nine years of not having a mother had taken a toll on her. With nothing to stop her father, she and Robyn became his outlet, his own personal punching bags. At one point, she had thought she had found refuge, then that had turned to shit too. Green eyes and cruel smile flashed sharply through her mind. She dropped the almost empty bottle, shattering it on the concrete. Shards of glass fell like rain, causing the ground to glitter and sparkle; a sharp contrast to reality. Giving no thought to it, she pushed herself up and staggered down the sidewalk.

He would still affect her wouldn't her? She just couldn't run from the damned bastard. She shook her head hard and slowly began running once more. Why wasn't the alcohol kicking in? Without looking, she ran into the road. The squeal of brakes and blinding lights was enough for her sluggish brain to realize what was about to happen. Closing her eyes, she prayed it would be fast. Sadly, the relief never came. Instead of a violent end, the driver quickly swerved barely missing her.


	2. Chapter 2

Sweet relief never came, instead time seemed to pause, invaded by only a few seconds of heavy breathing. Then, as if someone had pressed play on a remote, time started again. Before her on the black concrete knelt a young man, a few years older than her, cursing, apologizing, and berating all at once. Without bothering to process his words, she slurred, "Why did you miss?"

Brown eyes froze, shooting up to meet her own glazed ones. "What da hell ya mean 'Why'd I miss?' Wait, are ya drunk?" Instead of answering, she just looked at him, taking in the wife beater and threadbare jeans. Dragging his hand roughly through his long black hair, which she noticed was unevenly cut, he sighed. "D'ya like pancakes?" April froze, stuck between disbelief and curiosity. The look on her face must have appeared incredulous, because he just laughed and roughly yanked her to her feet and towards the car. Contradicting his manner, he carefully opened the car door for her and gently led her to sit down. Once he insured that she was buckled in, he closed her door and walked to the other side. Before she could finish wondering if this was a stupid mistake, he was in the car and driving.

They sat in silence for a while, both wary of the other and unwilling to make the effort. Maybe it was her alcohol-addled brain, or maybe it was the heady scent of cigarette smoke, but April couldn't find it within herself to protest and was strangely comforted by the man's presence. Just as she was beginning to enjoy the silence, he began rambling. "Arnold Jones, but ya can call me Casey." She glanced at him to show she was listening, but didn't answer. "So, ya gotta name or what?"

Irritated at his brusque tone, she snapped out "April O'Neil" and went back to staring out the window. Not sensing her tone, or perhaps ignoring it, Casey barged on. "How old are ya kid? Ya don't look old enough to be walkin' around this late at night drinkin'."

"I'm not a kid."

"Ya sure look like one."

"I'm seventeen."

"So you're a kid."

At that, her head whipped around and glared at him. "If I'm still a kid, then what are you? A dirty old man? What kinda guy picks up random girls up in the middle on the night anyway?" He snorted, and quickly retorted, "What kinda girl gets into the car of a man she don't know? And I ain't old! I'm only twenty-four." Once again, she turned to look out the window, hyperaware of the dark eyes that remained on her person. She took a deep breath, calling on patience, and asked the question that that been wiggling around in the back of her mind since she had sat down in the car. "Why pancakes?"

His crooked smirk lit up the darkened car and his rambling resumed. "Pancakes are fuckin' amazin'. They cure hangovers, they make early mornin's better, they pretty much fix everythin'." He looked over at her dumbfounded face and could only chuckle, "What they really do!" She shook her head at his presumed stupidity, which prompted him to continue.

"Listen, they're ain't nothin' better than a huge stack of pancakes after a cage fight with a Purple Dragon. They're ain't nothin' like the syrup and butter oozing down the side after a shift at the bar. And they're ain't nothin' like a stack when ya got an early morning class. Pancakes, my dear April, are a cure-all."

She glanced at his smug smile as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear stick of the car. "So let me guess…if you're getting into cage matches with purple dragons, then you're an underground fighter? That's illegal mister, should you really be scolding me about underage drinking?" In response, he sheepishly scratched the back of his head and chuckled, "About that, I ain't fought a match in years. Right now I'm just Casey Jones-bartender, criminal justice major, and extreme sport enthusiast. Didja know I played hockey professionally once?" April giggled and shook her head, if his speedometer and the cartons of cigarettes were any indication, he also liked driving fast and smoking.

Upon pulling into the diner, their conversation ceased with Casey too busy focusing on getting April to a booth without her stumbling. Inside, she pitched herself into a booth as Casey talked to the older woman behind the counter. With little customers, the place could be considered intimate. It was a small 1950's style place, complete with blinding lights and gleaming chrome. The red pleather behind her back was too stiff to be considered comfortable, but she found it more endearing than annoying.

Casey sat down on the bench across from her, his tall muscular frame dwarfing the table they sat at. With a pot of coffee in hand, he poured two drinks and then relaxed. For a couple of minutes, they sat in comfortable silence. Then Casey leaned forward, elbows on the table, and said the words she had been begging not to hear. "So, April O'Neil. Tell me 'bout yourself. Hobbies? School? Dreams?" Glaring into his eyes, she prayed for an escape. When none happened, she reluctantly began talking.

"April O'Neil. Named for some dead grandmother. 17." She hoped her blunt manner would scare him off of questioning, but instead it did the opposite. "No way missy, this is a hopes and dreams and nightmares kinda talk. Not fluffy 'nice ta meetcha' shit." She snorted and unwillingly smiled.

She took a moment to contemplate him, and seeming to approve, she tried again. "Alright then caveman, I'm a sucker for running and working on computers. You should see my room; it's littered with pieces. Right now, I have no future plans. And by the way? Pancakes are not a cure-all, thank you very much." Casey feigned hurt, placing his hand to his heart and acting like she had shot him. "Just wait 'til ya try these princess. Whaddaya mean 'no future plans'? Everyone's gotta have some." April looked down at the table in an attempt to ignore the guilt, and watched the pattern on the table begin to spin and sway. She looked up from the movement to avoid the nausea she knew would occur.

"It's just, I don't really know what I want to do. I mean, when I was little being a reporter or a scientist seemed cool. But now I'm an adult, and I'm supposed to be realistic and look at an adult job, and just, I don't know." She glanced at Casey to find him looking out the window, all he offered was a bitter, "Yeah, bein' an adult sucks," and then they sunk into silence.

Soon, the older lady from behind the counter placed two stacks of pancakes down in front of them. Casey's dripping syrup and butter, and hers given a whipped cream smiley face. The pancakes themselves came in and out of focus, but she dove into them like they were her last meal. Once again, Casey began chatting, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere and the shadowy haze at the edge of her consciousness like a knife. She managed to ignore both until halfway through her last pancake and his skydiving story when her world went dark, sweet release coming at the most inopportune moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**This story was originally not a fanfiction at all, but rather a fiction story with original characters written as a creative writing assignment. When I originally imagined the story, it had a much more optimistic ending than what I actually wrote. Unfortunately, a happy ending contained too many words, so the actual assignment ended at the last chapter. Not being able to get my original ending out of my head, I wrote this one-one where Cherie (or April in this case) doesn't die from alcohol poisoning.**

 **Thanks for reading this.**

While waking up to a cold hospital room was uncommon for April, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. The clean, white walls and orderly set up carved a picturesque scene in her mind, creating the aura of order and safety that she craved. So, as she slowly awakened to the smell of cleaning chemicals and medicine, she allowed herself to relax and breathe in the palpable security. With groggy eyes, she looked around at her surroundings and down at herself. White walls, white sheets, white skin-all contrasting the red of her hair and the lights from the machines.

Too achingly sore to fully sit up, April shuffled until her back leaned on the pillows and had a more advantageous resting point. There were no other patients in her room, nor nurses or doctors from what she could see, but the curtain blocked her view of the door. Directly across from her bed hung a white board, listing her diet, doctor, nurse, and cause of visit. She squinted to read it, and once deciphered, she let out a deep hiss of air, sinking into the pillows.

Alcohol poisoning. It had worked. April O'Neil had downed almost an entire bottle of vodka in an attempt to ease the pain, and it had almost worked. Yet, the obvious problem of breathing and being alive ruined her euphoria. Death had not come, and she was still painfully alive.

She scrunched her eyes closed, allowing the memories of this morning to crash over her. Running out, the Purple Dragon's warehouse, the vodka, the car crash, a hazy face with striking brown eyes, and…and pancakes? Her eyes shot open, and she questioningly mouthed the word. _Pancakes?_ She hadn't had pancakes in years, and never with a whipped cream smiley face on top. Going back over the memories, she somehow connected the car crash with the man who smelled like cigarettes to the pancakes. Casey, his name was Casey.

The unfamiliar feeling of hope bloomed in her heart like a flower, and her eyes darted throughout the room, but no Casey Jones came into her vision. Figures, she thought viciously, a perfect guy like that can't handle when someone passes out in front of him. With that, she forcefully shoves the older man into the back of her mind, eventually drifting off to sleep.

She wakes up to the sound of two men talking, and for an instant she fears her father has been notified. But one voice is too educated and the other has too much of an accent, so see keeps her guard up. Slowly she opens her eyes, where a doctor and Casey Jones talk to each other. When neither realize she has woken up, she closes her eyes and begins to listen.

"She's lucky she's alive, we had to pump her stomach twice, and even that wasn't enough," the doctor wearily told Casey, exhaustion ringing in his voice. "What exactly happened?" Casey must have shaken his head, because April could vaguely hear his hair rustle. "I don't know doc. One moment I drivin' home from work like usual, next I'm swervin' to avoid some girl in the road. She's drunk so I decide to sober 'er up some and take her home. We sit down, she eats, and she passes out." She remembers the events he summarizes vividly, and wonders if he obsessed over their conversations in his mind like she has been trying to avoid. A sigh interrupts her pondering, and the Doctor begins again. "You did the right thing. By feeding her you got some sugar in her system, which diluted the alcohol in her a blood stream by a fraction. By talking to her as long as you did, you kept her awake longer than if you hadn't found her, giving her some time to work off some the effects. Overall, she got very lucking running into you." Finished, the doctor left, his footsteps light against the tile. When the door closes behind him, Casey breathes out, "No doc, I got lucky findin' her," and gently grabs her hand.

His hands contrast her own, she finds she can feel the cuts and callouses and scars that grace his hand and dance over her soft, unmarred skin. He slowly runs his thumb up and down the back of her hand, and suddenly, April wants nothing more than to ride shotgun in his car and eat pancakes with him on a regular basis, but to do that she has to come clean.

She opens her eyes and turns her head to him, meeting his eyes. They search each other's eyes for a second while April drags up the courage from somewhere deep within her. "Hi," she says slowly, "I'm April O' Neil. 17. I live with my father and my third stepmother. I am a senior in high school. I like running, computers, journalism, and boys who drive to fast and like pancakes." At her speech, Casey smirks. "Hello Miss O'Neil. Names Casey Jones, I'm 24. I live alone two blocks down from my mama. I'm majorin' in criminal justice at the community college to become a police man while working nights at a bar. I'm partial to pretty redheads who drink too much and wander around carelessly." She blushes at that and his smirk widens, coaxing a soft smile out of her. Too quickly, a serious and somber expression replaces his smirk. "Tell me Miss April, what's with the bruises and the drinkin'".

She flinches, but not as much as she would've had she not been expecting the question. Her eyes dart away from his but she explains. "My dad's an alcoholic. He's beaten me and my sister since we were kids." He nods, and the stroking doesn't stop, so she continues. "I was, I was trying to end it all. It would've just been better if I didn't exist." She smirks here, a strange expression on her usually stone face. "Of course, some caveman had to come around and cause trouble."

Her teasing words cause Casey to splutter, and a laugh erupts from her throat. "Now listen 'ere lady! I ain't n- ". She cuts him off with a short and sweet kiss, something she admits to herself that she would like to try again. They look at each other, no words are spoken, but so much passes between them. A mischievous smile crosses Casey's face, and suddenly she's been lifted in his arms. He laughs loudly at her squeak and grasping hands, and when she starts protesting he says, "Grab your IV Miss April, we're goin' on a road trip." She frantically grasps for her IV stand as he starts walking.

Down the hall, the nurses chase after them, begging, "Mr. Jones! Please put Miss O'Neil back in bed!" In response, he just barks out his loud laugh and enters the elevator. Standing in comfortable silence, April relaxes into him, loving the warmth of his hand on her back and the tickle of his hair on her neck. It's something new and exciting and overall, right. The doors of the elevator open, and Casey steps out on to the roof with the IV dragging behind him. "Can ya stand?" He asks, to which she nods her head. He sets her down and turns her around. Before her stands all of New York City, illuminated by a light pink sunrise.

"When I was an underground fighter I ended up here a lot, eventually I found out the roof had public access so it became my spot to get away to." She looks to him and then back towards the skyline, "It's perfect." They stand there for a while in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence when Casey suddenly clears his throat. "April, can I, uh, can I ask you something?"

She looks over her shoulder at him, "Yea, Casey?" He blushes, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck, and looks up like all the answers are in the sky. "Listen, Ape, can I call ya Ape? Wait, no, that's not the question! I mean, April would ya like ta come live with me? I mean, my ma constantly stops by, and it's a pretty shitty apartment, and ya would still have ta go ta school, but you'd be outta your dad's house and…and yea." He looks like he's waiting for the ground to swallow him up, but April just falls a bit more in love with him. She realizes that his accent gets thicker and begins to ramble when he's nervous, and suddenly that car ride makes so much more sense. With that knowledge, April giggles and fully turns to him. "When can I move in?"

He looks at her shocked, like he expected her to say "no". His mouth opens and closes like a fish, then stretches into a large grin. "You can move in as soon as you're released, how does that sound?" She smiles widely, "Good." He nods, then with a cheeky grin he asks, "Permission to act like a caveman?" At that, she full on laughs and nods. "Permission granted."

Once again, Casey lifts her up so that her face is just above his. Smiling, he spins her around, making her laugh. The IV tube wraps around them as they spin in the sunrise, and April realizes she hasn't been this happy in years.


End file.
